


Amamiya Ren’s Day Off

by shouldbeworking



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, M/M, Spoilers, Suicidal Ideation, aka Save Joker, aka i’m so hyper-fixated that i watched ferris bueller’s day off and thought ‘this is akeshu’
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 04:57:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18025112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shouldbeworking/pseuds/shouldbeworking
Summary: One Thief’s struggle to take it easy - Ren takes Goro on a tour of Tokyo the day before everything ends. Extremely inspired by Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. No wait, come back!—“Oh, Akechi,” Joker says, smiling like a nightmare, “the question isn’t whatarewe going to do. The question is whataren’twe going to do.”





	Amamiya Ren’s Day Off

**Author's Note:**

> borrows heavily from that one extremely good film. this was supposed to be a quick fic but it kind of got away from me. oops.
> 
> you don’t need to have seen the movie to read this, but it might make it more fun 😘

It’s a perfect day.

A perfect morning, at the very least: not a cloud to be seen, birds chirping in scattered trees, branches rustling only occasionally from the lightest of breezes. The crisp late-November air is refreshing, bracing, and the heat of the rising sun makes a temperature that could have been cold perfectly comfortable instead.

Akechi Goro stands on his balcony, breathing in that fresh air, letting it fill his lungs to bursting, reveling in it, because today is going to be _perfect_. Of course it is. Even the weather agrees. He takes one more deep breath, turns on his heel, walks back inside his apartment, into his bathroom, and dry heaves into the toilet. 

November 19th: a perfect day. He was awake long before the sun rose, so he’s also already had an astoundingly productive morning. Another good sign. Goro brushes his teeth again, ignoring how his gums are starting to bleed. He splashes cold water on his face, puts his blazer back on, combs through his hair with his fingers. Practices his smile. Perfect.

It’s almost seven in the morning. He’s meeting the Phantom Thieves to steal the Treasure from Sae’s Palace at six that evening. He’s thought through every part of his plan. Every contingency. Gone over it in his head and with Shido and the SIU Director and his goons enough times that they couldn’t fuck it up even if they were as dumb as Sakamoto.

So. All he has to do is wait until six.

He decides it’s a good idea to get a head start on some readings. Pulling off the arrest of the century would be no excuse for his grades being anything less than stellar, after all. Goro sits at his desk, opens his textbook, and stares at the words. 

It’s a few minutes later, curled up next to the damned toilet once again, that his phone vibrates.

—————

**_Amamiya Ren_ **

**Ren** : hey  
**Ren** : you up yet?

—————

It’s incredible, how quickly a perfect day can take a turn for the worst.

Goro has no obligation to answer. He shouldn’t answer. He could be busy, or sleeping, or maybe on a train, where the reception is poor. A very long train, one that doesn’t stop until six o’ clock.

—————

**_Amamiya Ren_ **

**Goro** : Of course! I usually try to wake up with the sun.  
**Goro** : Makes for a good start to the day, don’t you think?  
**Goro** : Did you need something Ren?

 **Ren** : yeah one sec i’m calling you

—————

“ _God, fucking–!”_   _Shit_. He should have fucking known better than to answer. Goro grabs his discarded blazer from the tiled bathroom floor and flaps it around in a fury, because it’s not like he can throw his phone.

Who calls people? Who, besides middle-aged bald evil shitbags? Goro shouts wordlessly into the air in exasperation, stands up quickly, punches his uncooperative stomach a few times for good measure. Hopefully the adrenaline will keep his nausea at bay until he can end this call as soon as possible. He paces across his apartment as the phone in his fist starts to ring, breathes deeply, swallows a few times, breathes again, gives up, lays on his floor, and taps “accept call.”

“Good morning, Ren!” He says into the phone, then rolls his eyes at himself. Shifts to lay on his stomach, so he can press his forehead hard against the wood floor. Too high, too loud, too suspicious, Goro you fucking idiot.

“ _Hey,_ ” is what comes back, the sound a little jarring, in the same way it used to be when he heard himself on television. The two of them have never spoken on the phone before, and it’s difficult to connect the deep, crackling voice emanating from the speaker with _him._  “ _What are you doing today_ ,” the voice continues.

He’s not serious, is he? “Haha, you’re not serious, are you?”

The phone chuckles, and Goro congratulates himself for sounding normal. Joker’s voice replies, “ _besides that, obviously._ ”

Goro scrambles for something, anything, “well…”

“ _I’m taking the day off,_ ” the phone from hell interrupts, because he took too long, shit. “ _Get dressed and come to Leblanc._ ”

No. No. _No_. No. “Day off?” Goro asks, staring accusingly at the wood grain of the floor. He has to avoid giving a yes or no, either answer is unacceptable.

A no would be too suspicious now. He can’t risk any suspicion today, not when he’s _so close_ to being rid of all of them. Joker knows he’s free, Goro already failed to give a quick enough excuse to the contrary like an amateur, because he’s been awake for four hours already and he’s exhausted and he feels sick for no goddamn reason and he just has a lot on his mind, thank you very much.

And a yes? Spending any more time than necessary with perfect Joker, Saint Joker, the guy-who-could-so-no-wrong? Unimaginable.

A chill runs through him, and this time it has nothing to do with the cold November air or his uncooperative stomach. Why does Joker want him around anyway? What if he’s been figured out? What if this is a trap?

...No, it’s not a trap, Goro, you paranoid fucking idiot. He presses his forehead harder against the floor, until his head throbs, and asks a more pointed question: “shouldn’t you be attending school?”

“ _Shouldn’t you?_ ” The phone immediately fires back. He doesn’t even give Goro the chance to respond. “ _I'm sick. Cough_ ,” Joker literally says. “ _Come over._ ”

Goro covers the microphone with his hand and flails wildly on the floor, biting back a scream. He stubs his toe in the process.

“I can’t say I approve,” Goro says calmly into the speaker after he’s had his moment, “but I suppose your last day before disbanding the Phantom Thieves,” _your last day alive,_ “is a special enough occasion to warrant bending the rules a little bit.”

“ _So you’re coming over._ ” Joker confirms, not a question in the slightest.

Goro practices his smile, “yes, of course, I’ll see you soon.”

 

* * *

 

“ _Piece of shit!!_ ” Goro wrenches his useless, cheap, uncooperative, _shit_ tie off his collar and flings it across the room. It flutters pathetically to the floor as Goro switches to screaming uselessly into his hands. 

This is unbecoming. He has to calm down. Stop acting like such a child, you absolute bastard, Goro. Grow up and do your fucking job.

This will be good, he tells himself as he walks over and plucks his striped tie up off the floor. He had no plans today anyway, so passing the time with the Phantom Fools is as good as anything, isn’t it? So what if he’d felt the most relief ever in his life yesterday, leaving Leblanc for the final time, knowing this damned chapter of his cursed life was finally coming to a close and the only time he’d have to spend with any of them again was in the Metaverse, where it’s so much _easier_ to pretend?

So what if he has to see Joker again? Who gives a shit?

He doesn’t. He can do this. He’s a professional. It’s just one more day.

And there: his tie is tied correctly now. Blazer buttoned, gloves on, ready for just another day. He can leave his briefcase behind, and, oh, he can leave the silencer that’s in his pocket too, he won’t be needing that until tomorrow.

So silly of him to forget it was in there.

Goro gently places the silencer on his kitchen counter, starts to leave, then makes a u-turn and ends up in his bathroom once again.

 

* * *

 

He does make it to Yongen-Jaya, eventually. It’s almost eight in the morning by then, but he does make it, and in his defense it’s not like they’d set a time to meet.

During a quick pit stop to not throw up in a train station bathroom he received an odd text from Joker further demanding: “ _btw dont actually go in leblanc. meet me in the alley on the right._ ” So here he is, standing in a disgusting alleyway deep in the slums of Tokyo, alone. There are puddles of unevaporated rainwater and general muck everywhere. There’s an actual trash can next to him.

—————

**_Amamiya Ren_ **

**Goro** : I’m here. Where are you?

—————

Goro taps his foot impatiently, thinking of all the better things he could be doing with his time. If these belligerent children knew exactly who they were dealing with they wouldn’t be so quick to make a fool of him. They’ll learn soon enough, he can’t wait to–

A sharp sound above his head catches his attention. A window is being slid open, ah, that must be the one at the back of Joker’s trashy attic home, of course.

So he’s sneaking out like a common delinquent, is he? Fitting.

Sure enough a mop of unkempt black curls comes into view, gives him a quick nod, and Joker’s climbing out of his own fucking window. Goro checks his phone absently as he waits, because it’s embarrassing how Joker’s shirt and jacket are riding up during the process, exposing his bare torso for anyone to leer at. If anyone were here in this alleyway to leer, that is.

Joker hops down next to him with his usual grace, silent as a cat even in this world. Musses his hair to look even more ridiculous than before and huffs out: “Hey.” His cheeks are pink.

“Good morning,” Goro politely responds as he puts his phone away, “may I ask what all this is about? Sneaking around Sakura-san in such a way seems unnecessary. And, where are all the others?”

“Others?” Joker quirks an eyebrow at him. Goro gestures to the empty space around the two of them. For fuck’s sake, not even the _cat_ is around.

Joker smirks and says “just you and me today, Crow.” _He knows he knows he fucking knows_ , Goro’s more paranoid side screams at him. Keeping a pleasant smile fixed to his face is one of the hardest things he’s ever done. Joker doesn’t seem to notice, continuing, “you seemed nervous yesterday. Figured you’d want a distraction before the heist.”

 _He doesn’t know,_ Goro assures himself, _he just thinks you’re pathetic_. “You’re skipping school for my sake? I assure you–”

“Alright, you got me,” Joker interrupts, holding his hands up, “it’s not just for you. Day’s too nice to spend it in school. But…” His dark eyes rake up and down Goro’s form with an intensity makes Goro extremely uncomfortable. Joker finally tilts his head and makes a face, “that isn’t going to work.”

The sun beating down on his face feels especially hot. “What?”

“Give me your jacket.”

“ _What_ ,” Goro says, reflexively grabbing his tie.

“Oh yeah. Tie too.”

“ _No_. Why?”

Joker smiles, “I’m skipping school and you’re a celebrity. You need a disguise.”

Ah. Goro hates that he’s right. Not for the reason Joker is thinking, of course, but… if any over eager fan of his happened to post a photo of the two of them together it would be very difficult to explain.

“Alright, I’ll play along,” Goro says. He sheds his Detective Prince costume, and holds it out to Joker. He keeps his gloves on. “But I’ll need something else. It may be warm but it’s not summer.”

“I got you.” Joker snatches his things and climbs back up to his window one-handed, with a special sort of skill and precision that shouldn’t have been surprising. Goro thinks about how he’s never going to see that particular tie or blazer again.

It’s a few minutes later when Joker drops to the ground once more. He holds out an oversized grey hoodie and a yellow hair tie.

Goro throws the hoodie on over his white dress shirt, trying not to think about how good it smells and how comfortable it is. He ignores the hair tie. Joker pokes him with it.

“No. I don’t do that.” Goro sneers, openly eyeing the band with distaste. “Where did you get that thing anyway?”

“It’s Ann’s, she leaves them all over the place. Come on,” Joker prods, shoving the yellow thing in his face, “anyone would recognize your hair from a mile away.”

“No.”

“Please? Just try it.”

Goro glares at him. It hasn’t even been ten minutes and this guy is driving him insane. Goro snatches the hair tie and purposely does a terrible job at putting up a ponytail, missing strands of hair around his face and at the back of his neck.

He gives Joker a look to say, _see, all of your ideas are terrible_ , but Joker’s staring at him exactly like… exactly like–

Exactly like that time in the casino a few weeks ago. Joker had dealt a fair amount of damage to a Shadow but hadn’t quite been able to take it down. Goro decided to offer his help, because it had been a long day and he was frustrated at being a few rounds deep into a battle that he normally could have ended with one hit. 

Joker gave him a certain kind of teasing smile when he tagged him in, like _you sure you can handle it_ , instead of  _thanks_ , and that set Goro off. So he might have used more of his strength against the low-level demon than required, and he might have put a little extra flair into how he swung his sword.

When Goro turned back to the team to receive his praise, the Thieves just grumbled about him being a newbie and a show-off. All of them except Joker, with his pink cheeks and wide smile and shining eyes. He clapped him on the back and said, “that was amazing, Crow,” and Goro replayed that moment in his head over and over until Shido called him that night. And after that Goro tried his best to forget.

So he does the same here, looks away and decides the trash can next to him is very interesting, and says, “if this keeps my fans at bay, I’ll endure it.” He looks back at Joker after he’s deemed it safe to do so. “What are we doing today, anyway?”

“Oh, Akechi,” Joker says, smiling like a nightmare, “the question isn’t what _are_ we going to do. The question is: what _aren’t_ we going to do.”

Shit. _Fuck_. Well. There goes his hope of this being over quickly.

This is Amamiya Ren’s last day alive. If he wants to spend his time on death row with his executioner, fine. Fine. Goro’s certainly not going to say anything to convince him otherwise.

Goro swallows hard, wondering what the hell he’s gotten himself into, and follows obediently (always obedient, aren’t you Goro?) as Joker marches out of the alleyway. He’s walking with purpose, back a little straighter without that cat weighing him down, so it at least _seems_ like he has a plan.

“You didn’t really answer my question,” Goro reminds Joker while he catches up to his long strides.

“You have a license, right?”

“A license– a driver’s license?”

“Yup. License.”

“Well, no. Not really.”

Joker stops in his tracks, turns to face him. “You don’t have a license?”

“I have a provisional license, but–”

Joker hums, then starts walking again, saying, “good enough. Probably won’t need it anyway.”

This _shithead_ , “I apologize if there was a miscommunication,” Goro says cheerfully through gritted teeth, “I didn’t realize your secret plan would require a driver’s license. If you would just tell me…”

They slow their pace outside a sketchy office building, though, if Goro kept using the qualifier of “sketchy” for everything in the area he’d never be able to tell anything apart. Joker heads up some stairs and Goro helplessly follows, trying to quickly read off the list of businesses inside.

He’s no coward, that’s for sure, but it’s certainly easier to die in the real world than the Metaverse. Especially if one is skulking around a back-alley trash-heap like this. He only wants to know what he’s gotten himself into. Joker just moves so quickly, and before Goro can properly take in any of his surroundings they’re in what looks like some sort of clinic. Or rehab center, considering the area.

Joker ambles up to a desk, (a desk that is absolutely behind bulletproof glass), and starts talking in hushed tones to the unprofessionally dressed receptionist, leaving Goro to stand around on his own like an idiot. Some fucking day this was. He could be at home right now, alone, studying. 

No one’s even in this “clinic” besides them. Which is probably good. Goro’s examining an inscrutable wall poster, one that looks more like an advertisement for a heavy metal concert than a medication, when he hears, “Akechi!”

“Akechi Goro. The Charismatic Detective,” the receptionist drawls at him after he parks himself in front of her desk. Then turns to address Joker, “you’re serious?”

A nod.

The woman sighs, leans back in her chair. “And he’s got a license?”

Another nod.

She leans forward, “a _motorcycle_ license?”

Good god, Joker.

Goro opens his mouth to put a stop to _whatever the fuck_ –

–and immediately closes it when he feels a sharp pain on the top of his foot.

Did fucking Joker just fucking _stomp_ on his _fucking foot?_

“He’s a cop,” Joker says matter-of-factly, as if that automatically means Goro has a valid, legal, license to drive. Or excuses him from having one? Does this moron know he’s not even technically on the force? Does he know how laws work?

Goro daydreams about how good it will feel to put a bullet through his skull.

The woman blinks slowly at the both of them, and Goro realizes with horror that this receptionist is actually wearing a doctor’s lab coat. “I don’t believe you,” she says, “but I owe you. So, fine.”

She pulls out a pair of keys attached to a skull charm from her desk and dangles them in front of Joker. “ _But_ ,” the ( _doctor?_ ) hisses, “one scratch. Just one, Amamiya Ren, and I swear to god, you will never forgive yourself for making the mistake of occupying a very human, very mortal, very fragile body. I know exactly how to kill you, and I _will_. Got it?”

A third nod.

The woman chuckles and drops the keys in his hand, then waves him off, saying in a sarcastic tone, “have fun, guinea pig. Don’t die.”

Goro moves to follow, confused but grateful that he’d gotten out of whatever this was with only an aching foot, when the woman holds up a hand. “Boy genius. Stay for a second.”

And Joker just leaves him there.

“Can I help you?” He asks pleasantly, putting on his best television smile, because he is _very_ uncomfortable.

That makes her raise her eyebrows. “Wow. It really is you. And you’re with _him_?” She quirks her head in the direction of where Joker was last seen, leaving Goro in a clinic that was begging to be robbed with a woman who looked like she would rob it herself if she didn’t _work there_.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

She chuckles at that and winks, a move he recognizes. “Sure. Alright.” She leans forward with a sly look, like she’s sharing a secret, “he talks about you a lot, you know.”

Goro cannot imagine a universe where Joker talks “a lot” to anyone, about anything, so he decides to ignore everything this insane woman says.

“Take care of him. He’s a special one,” she mumbles, looking a little too pouty for her age, and waves him off too. _He’s not special. He’s no one, and I’m going to prove it when I win._ But Goro nods, because that’s what he’s supposed to do, and heads out to find his captor.

“Wear a condom!” The woman inexplicably yells as the door closes. Goro trips over the hallway rug and lands on his face.

 

* * *

 

“Did you _step_ on my _foot_ ,” Goro doesn’t growl at Joker when he finally feels put-together enough to step outside.

Joker laughs, “sorry about that. I had to. It’ll be worth it, I promise.” He starts walking away again, spinning that set of keys around his finger, and teases, “I mean, it was worth it anyway to see the look on your face.” 

Goro counts backward from ten. He only reaches seven when Joker turns a corner and stops. Goro stops too. And so does his heart.

Because he’s realized too late that he’s made a huge mistake, and Joker was, in actuality, very serious about all this.

Because in front of them, gleaming brilliantly in the morning sun, is a motorcycle. 

Not just any motorcycle: it’s beautiful. It’s enormous. It’s the kind of motorcycle that intimidates just by being. The kind that could wake up an entire town with the roaring of its engine. The kind that could take you away, far away, from this damned city and all the damned people in it. It’s got skulls, roses, and thorns painted on the side. Joker looks positively _giddy_.

“You can’t be serious,” Goro says.

“I am _so_ serious, dude,” Joker exclaims as he runs around the bike, examining it from all angles as if he possibly knows anything about motorcycles. Goro watches with detached horror as Joker’s long fingers carefully stroke the bike’s smooth metal-brushed sides, curve around its handles, press gently into its leather cushions.

This can’t be happening to him.

Joker, mercifully oblivious to whatever the fuck is happening to Goro, bends down behind the motorcycle for a second and then pops up, shouting, “look! Two helmets!”

“You _cannot_ be serious,” Goro says again, a little softer.

He’s ignoring how his heart is racing in his chest, ignoring that stupid juvenile part of him that has actually always wanted a motorcycle. Or, at least, wanted to ride one. The same part that maybe feels a little jealousy every time Niijima summons her stupid Persona.

And he was a fool to let his guard down for a second, because Amamiya Ren is standing in front of him with a motorcycle helmet on, and he’s holding the other one out to Goro, and Goro had a dream exactly like this last week.

He can’t think about what happened next in that dream. He can’t do this, he can’t.

He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t.

Goro takes the helmet.

This was not how this day was supposed to go.

It was supposed to be a perfect day, he thinks desperately, as Ren hops gracefully on the bike and kicks on the engine. The sound roars through Goro’s body, and he realizes that he’s been smiling too wide. He can tell it’s the bad one, the one he thought he’d practiced his way out of, and he doesn’t know how long he’s been doing it, and Ren is still smiling back and waving him over.

It’s someone else who puts on the helmet, fastens it, eagerly climbs on behind Ren. It can’t be his life, not him, because things like this don’t happen to people like him.

Especially not with guys, and especially not with guys like Ren.

“Hold on tight, cross your fingers we don’t die,” Ren yells over the screaming engine, and Goro’s laugh explodes out of his chest because he can’t remember the last time he was so excited and terrified.

And then they _go_.

Goro quickly realizes that yes, he really does need to wrap his arms even tighter around Ren’s waist, or he’ll fall off and get seriously hurt. So he has to. He has to press his entire front against warm, solid Ren as they fly away from the side streets of Yongen-Jaya, and it’s fine. He doesn’t remember the last time he was this close to another human being, but it’s fine. He can’t stop trembling, but that’s fine too. Extenuating circumstances. 

They reach an expressway, wind whipping past them, weaving around slow, bulky cars, and Goro wonders if Ren knows where the hell he’s even going, and wonders if either of them really give a shit.

They accelerate faster, and faster, and _faster_ , and Ren shouts and laughs over the ever-louder engine and the screaming wind, whooping into the air, and Goro does too, because it’s just an impossible thing to keep inside.

It’s a perfect day. It’s a _perfect_ day.

 

* * *

 

They don’t get caught, somehow.

Goro is sure Ren was driving recklessly but they don’t get caught. His heart is still pounding as they pull into a parking garage in Asakusa. His face hurts from smiling. He feels like someone else.

Ren shuts off the bike, and the world so _quiet_ once again. Goro manages to pry his frozen stiff arms out from around Ren’s waist and tumbles off the motorcycle, still trembling, trying his best to quickly regain _some_ semblance of composure. He thinks his legs have stopped working.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Ren exclaims behind him, loud and genuine in a way Goro doesn’t think he’s ever heard from him. The sound echoes around the cavernous garage. “Are you _kidding_ me?”

They share a look, then both burst out laughing.

“That was… quite something,” Goro says. His smile is broken again, he’s sure of it, but Ren didn’t seem put off by it before, so fuck it.

“Holy shit,” Ren says again. He pops off his helmet and shakes his hair out. Goro realizes he’s staring, so he quickly turns away and does the same. He does his best to put his hair up exactly the same as it was before.

Goro’s checking himself out in his phone camera, trying to see his ponytail how Ren saw it (maybe it isn't terrible), when a notification pops up on his phone.

—————

**_The Phantom Thieves_ **

**Skull** : REN!!!!  
**Skull** : REN I’M CALLING YOU OUT  
**Skull** : THIS IS A CALL OUT  
**Skull** : WHAT THE HELL MAN  
**Skull** : I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS

 **Fox** : What’s going on?

 **Panther** : ren’s skipping and he didn’t tell anyone!!!!!!!

 **Skull** : I’M IN GYM CLASS WITH MISHIMA DUDE  
**Skull** : MISHIMA  
**Skull** : YOU’RE DEAD TO ME

 **Queen** : Ren! That’s very irresponsible!

 **Oracle** : WHAT sojiro told me you were sick af what the hell are you doing

 **Joker** : sorry all it was v spur of the moment i promise  
**Joker** : we’ll be thinking of you ❤️  
**Joker** : futaba dont snitch

 **Oracle** : i wont if you tell me why you’re in asakusa 👀  
**Oracle** : wait a sec  
**Oracle** : ?????

 **Skull** : WE???  
**Skull** : WHO ARE YOU WITH?????????

 **Oracle** : REN WTF answer my dm’s

—————

Goro revels in the satisfaction that Ren has chosen him for whatever this is, over all the rest of his little friends. Suck on that, Sakamoto.

Ren’s grinning, still tapping away on his phone. He turns to take a picture of the bike, the light catches his glasses, and somehow _that_ is what makes Goro remember. And it’s _insane_ , because a plan to kill someone wasn’t something he should have been able to forget in the first place.

His stomach turns. This was a mistake. He’s trapped in Asakusa with his target, for who knows how long. It’s like giving a dog a name when you know it’s going to be put down. Very unprofessional. And Joker already has a name, and a smile, and…

There’s a loud beep and a jingle of keys as Joker shoves them in his pocket. He breezes past Goro, none the wiser, jostling him amicably with his shoulder as he goes. This was all such a mistake.

Joker calls back to him from the exit of the parking garage, always rushing ahead, “let’s go! Lots to do!”

 

* * *

 

Goro’s at the top of Sky Tower. 

He’s always wanted to go to Sky Tower. He’s lived in this city his whole life, and never found the time to go to Sky Tower.

“I’ve been meaning to come back here for a while. This is one of my favorite spots in the city,” Joker says next to him. They’re both leaning against a railing, looking down at the city below through the thick glass. Few other people are around this early in the morning, so it’s peaceful. So it’s quiet. It’s too quiet.

Goro’s at the top of Sky Tower, looking down on the city he’s lived in his whole life from its highest point, and he just feels sick. He wants to leave. He wants to be anywhere else. He wants it to be five months ago or two days from now. He’s not sure which would be worse.

“Kind of makes all your problems seem insignificant, doesn’t it?” Joker mumbles next to him. He’s wrong: it doesn’t.

Joker’s been saying a lot today. A lot more than he usually does. Goro would have been ecstatic to hear this much from him just a few months ago. But his time is almost up. Everything Joker says sounds like an obituary. Words carved on a tombstone.

Goro wishes, just for a moment, that they’d met a few years earlier. He wonders what could have been. His stomach turns unpleasantly.

“Are you afraid of heights?” Joker asks a little hesitantly.

No. “Maybe,” Goro answers, hating how small his voice sounds, looking down at the dots below. “I’ve never been this high off the ground before.”

(That might be a lie, but it’s not like Goro was counting the steps while he climbed that precarious tower. It’s not like Goro was counting the seconds it took for him to fall to the earth after it collapsed under his feet.

He’d thought she was insane when he first met her. Insane in a good way, an insanity that her daughter clearly inherited. He was fourteen, trying his best to pretend to take notes for a “school project” while that researcher excitedly jabbered his ear off about cognitive this or that, shoving various papers full of scribbles and graphs in his face. All he’d wanted was a glimpse of his father, because Goro knew he checked in on this facility as part of his job. All he wanted was to _see_ him… and then it happened. The researcher finally introduced herself, “Isshiki Wakaba,” because she’d forgotten to earlier.

And then the two of them were standing outside the entrance to a tall stone tower. It was so tall the top disappeared into the clouds.

And then he was stabbed in the stomach by a guard, and that nice researcher was captured by two others, to be taken who-knows-where.

What fourteen year-old boy who watched too much _Featherman_ and _Star Wars_ wouldn’t have decided to become a hero?

So he fought off the guards, rescued the researcher with Robin Hood by his side. They escaped the tower. Isshiki asked him to come back, because she _needed_ him. She brought him her daughter’s toy sword and ray gun to use as weapons. He explored the terrifying tower for her, destroyed all manner of demons and beasts, grew stronger, and told her everything he found. He saw his father. Only in passing, just a glance here and there, but it was enough.

He knew their research was having an adverse effect on Isshiki. He could tell, as the weeks passed, how she was on the verge of some sort of collapse. He could see how her paranoia only grew as she built her tower higher and higher in and outside the new world they found together. He knew he probably should have tried to help– not just with the work, but help _her_ , but Goro was never very good at that, and he’d gotten to see his father from across the room twice that week.

And then one day. One day, his father _asked_ for him. Asked specifically for him, called him aside, alone, to his office, and Goro could have flown all the way there. He was so certain everything his mother told him was wrong as his father congratulated him on the good work he’d done.

And he couldn’t wait to tell his father about the success of the secret mission he’d entrusted to him. He couldn’t wait to see how killing the evil Shadow version of his excitable friend at the top of tower would help her. That thing didn’t know anything anyway, it was _evil_ , so when it begged for its life and told him about its daughter and its life and its work Goro knew it couldn’t be trusted.

After all, Goro knew who could be trusted.

He thought he knew.

He was a fool.

Isshiki Wakaba died. Goro walked into Shido Masayoshi’s office the next day, fury simmering under his skin as he smiled and made a deal with the devil. He was already a murderer, after all. He was cursed, a fact he’d known before and never should have forgotten. So, why not use the power granted to him by god on people who actually deserved it, and take down a monster in the process?

The next time he stepped into the Metaverse he was Loki, a trickster in chains, and his only allies were justice and _chaos_.)

Goro’s gloves creak, straining against how tightly he’s holding the railing. He hadn’t thought about that tower in a long time. He stares at the dots milling below, wondering if they’re shadows or people.

“My father is down there, somewhere,” Goro mumbles, his eyes following a few of the dots as they trace paths across streets and down sidewalks.

Shido is down there, and at this time tomorrow the two of them will be as well: Goro a hero of the people, pride of his father, detective extraordinaire. And Joker, a corpse.

Goro chances a glance up, and finds Joker, still alive for now, staring at him like he’s revealed too much of himself. Goro can never fucking help himself around this guy, can he? What is it about this criminal, this dreg on society, that makes him so eager to spill his heart out at any opportunity? What made Joker so fucking special?

“Come on,” Joker tugs gently at his sleeve, like Goro is something fragile, “we’ve spent enough time here. Lots to do.”

 

* * *

 

They travel to Shibuya, and Goro’s so lost in his own head that he barely notices. He wonders, as he fluffs up his hair again and sets the motorcycle helmet down, if he’s going to spend the rest of the day being a miserable downer. It makes sense. He deserves to feel like shit.

He should be able to just _do_ this. Spend the day with the guy he’s about to kill? Sure. It’s not like it matters. None of it should matter. He should be better than this.

Joker makes a few obvious moves to try to cheer him up which itself is laughable, as a concept. If only he knew. He wonders how Joker will react tomorrow, when Goro aims a gun at his head and delivers his eulogy. After he realizes he wasted part of his final day trying to make his own murderer smile.

At least Joker won’t have a lot of time to dwell on it.

“You know what?” Joker says after butchering a Hegel quote at him, “let’s go to Mementos. I need cash and I need to beat something up, and there’s only one place in the world where it’s acceptable to get both at once.”

Finally, a good idea. Goro nods, and the two of them head for the nearest station.

It’s a little tough to cloak himself in the bright, showy garb of Robin Hood while he’s in such a mood, but Goro decides to be a fucking adult and suck it up. It’s like the science behind forcing a smile while you’re unhappy: he’s tricking his brain into feeling what he wants it to. Or he’s in denial. Who gives a fuck.

“Give me some money,” Joker commands each time, his handgun steady in the face of all kinds of demons. Sometimes he asks, and sometimes he doesn’t. Goro isn’t sure how he’s able to tell when he should ask, but when he does it never fails.

It’s so easy to forget this cunning side of Joker while they’re in the real world. Goro’s absolutely sure that’s no accident. And it’s fucking annoying, is what it is. Goro wants to see him make a mistake, get knocked flat on his ass, get shot in the head. That would surely lift his spirits.

They don’t spend much time down there, just enough to mug a dozen or so Shadows and find some junk. Just enough for Goro to find his equilibrium again.

The two of them are taking a rest near the surface, masks up and chugging energy drinks, when Goro swears he hears Joker ask: “do you want to get married?”

The question is such a non-sequitur, so strange and out of the blue, that Goro’s able to move right past being surprised and answers seriously, “no.”

“Why not?”

Goro sighs, loud and long, skirts around the unsavory topic of the current state of Japan's marriage laws, and instead says truthfully, “I don’t believe in it.” He turns to Joker, “why, do _you_ want to get married?”

He immediately regrets asking the question when Joker responds with a shrug, “I dunno, maybe someday.”

Goro is uncomfortable hearing about this, because it’s an amazing combination of sad and mundane, so he winks and says, “sorry to disappoint, Joker.”

“Maybe I can change your mind, Crow,” Joker replies, completely deadpan. “Or your heart.”

Goro is extraordinarily uncomfortable. “Very funny. Why are you thinking about marriage anyway? You’re like, fifteen,” he grumbles.

Joker barks out a laugh, “come on man, you know you’re barely older than me.” He leans back against the ticket booth. “I dunno, I guess I’ve been thinking about the future a lot lately. You know, with the Phantom Thieves disbanding after tomorrow.”

Goro snorts. It’s an ugly sound, but this conversation sucks and he’s tired of it. He flashes his most perfect smile to make up for it. “There are better things out there than _marriage_ , Joker.”

“Like what?”

Goro hates talking about the future. None of it fucking matters, because Joker’s future ends tomorrow and Goro’s ends as soon as his plan does. He launches into his usual answer though, the one he has ready for condescending adults. “College, of course. Finding fulfilling work. Becoming a productive member of society. Traveling the world. You know, anything.”

“Traveling the world!” Joker exclaims. “That sounds great. Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t know,” Goro says, waving his hand in the air blithely, “anywhere.”

“Name a place.”

Goro glares at him, because Joker’s being really fucking annoying. He means to say something normal like Paris, but “California,” is what comes out of his mouth instead.

“Why California?”

Because he wants to see the redwood forests and the endless desert. He wants to walk on other planets, live amongst the stars. He’ll never be able to, but it’s nice to imagine he could, in a world where he had a future. “There are some films I enjoy that were shot there,” Goro mumbles, and quickly turns the focus away from himself by asking, “where would _you_ go?”

Joker hums in thought.

“I definitely want to go back to Hawaii. Maybe Egypt to see the pyramids for real.” He sighs, “I don’t really have a specific place in mind, to be honest. Just want to go somewhere I can see the Milky Way. The light pollution here sucks, and the planetarium is nothing like the real thing.”

Maybe this is hell. Maybe Ren knows, and he’s doing this to torture him. Now Goro is going to have to live with the fact that the boy he killed stuck lights on his attic ceiling because he wanted to sleep under the stars. Great. _Great_. Fucking fantastic.

Goro shoves everything away, occupies himself with checking their group chat. Even though he doesn’t really care what the Phantom Sidekicks are blathering on about.

—————

**_The Phantom Thieves_ **

**Skull** : what the hell happened to “be good students don’t be suspicious” 

 **Panther** : god ryuji would you give it a rest

 **Oracle** : top 10 anime betrayals: ren literally kills ryuji

 **Noir** : Ren, you’ll be ready to go at 6, right?

 **Fox** : I very much doubt our Leader would forget such an important detail.

 **Skull** : well he forgot to go to SCHOOL

 **Joker** : i’ll be ready to go at 6. just like we planned, no worries 😘

—————

Ren’s last message appears as Goro stares at his phone. He wonders if he should send the group a message too, but he kind of likes that no one knows he’s the one with Ren.

…Though, no one knows that because Ren seems to be purposely skating around telling them. And he’s a little pissed about that part, actually.

“So, which one of them are you dating?” Goro asks, staring at the emoji Ren sent.

He has perfect timing, it seems, as Ren coughs and sputters out his drink.

“Is it Niijima?” He prods, ignoring Ren’s attempts to recover. Ren coughs even harder at that. Goro wonders what would happen if he just accidentally died down here instead. Not from a bullet to the brain, but from a blue Arginade. Shido would be livid.

“Oh my god.” Another cough. Ren rasps out, “No, no, Crow, Makoto is with _Ann_.”

Goro opens his mouth, processes the information he thought he just heard, closes it. Opens it again, “ _what?_ ”

Ren’s laughs at him. “How the hell did you not know?”

“Forgive me if I’m not intimately familiar with all fifty of your personal dramas. I might have better ways to spend my time. Being a celebrity–”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, you still asked,” Ren says, his tone mocking. He laughs when Goro shoots him a look, and continues, rapid fire, “here, it’s not that hard: Makoto and Ann are the only ones who are official, but they’ve been keeping it discrete cause Mona is super in love with Ann. Futaba definitely has a crush on Yusuke and Yusuke has no idea. Ryuji’s trying to scope out Haru, but he does that to, like, every girl he meets. Haru is taking a break now that she’s broken off her engagement. I’m not dating anyone.” He shakes his head, chuckles, leans toward Goro a bit, “aren’t you supposed to be a detective?”

Goro didn’t pick up on _any_ of that. “I admit, this area has always been a bit of a blind spot for me,” he mumbles. His face feels hot.

“Yeah,” Ren gazes so openly at him, silver eyes sparkling again with something that can’t be fondness, “no shit, Sherlock.”

Goro swallows, and realizes how close together the two of them are sitting, actually. He can feel heat radiating off of Ren’s side.

This conversation is dangerous. This whole situation is dangerous. It’s quiet where two of them sit, but not the peaceful quiet from earlier at Sky Tower: this is the kind of quiet meant to be broken by something, something bad, something terrible, like the electricity inherit in a calm before a storm, and Goro is _freaking out_ because there’s tension in the air, and it’s only the two of them down here, and Ren is looking at him like that, and he cannot think about what those three facts could add up to and _also_ _do his goddamn job_ – 

Goro stands up and shouts, “well, I’m starving!” He clears his throat and asks, in a totally normal voice, “does lunch happen to factor into your mysterious plans?”

Joker stands up a bit slower, his expression closed off once more, which is a relief, and nothing else.

“Of course. Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

But, Joker says he’s got one quick stop to make before they can eat. Goro wasn’t really hungry when he mentioned it before, but now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t been able to keep any food down in a while, (fuck, maybe two days now?), and he truly is starving.

So it’s annoying that they still aren’t headed towards food as they round some random dark corner in downtown Shibuya.

“I know we’ve just finished up doing the same to demons in another world, but I would really prefer not to be mugged today, Joker,” Goro grumbles as their surroundings get ever sketchier. This guy just can’t stay away from the slums, can he?

“Almost there,” is all he gets in reply, “and, um, be cool, alright?”

Goro huffs.

He’s about to fire back with something very intelligent, he’s really just about to think of something, but a flicker of movement catches his eye.

There’s a little blue butterfly, fluttering around in this disgusting alleyway.

Huh.

He can’t help himself– he stops, leans down to take a closer look at it.

…

It’s so odd.

He’s never seen a butterfly in the middle of the city. Especially not now that it’s nearly winter.

There aren’t even any flowers around.

…

He thinks he hears something.

It’s very blue.

And it’s still just there, fluttering in the same spot. It kind of reminds him of something, but he can’t recall…

…

“– _kechi!!_ ”

There’s a hand on his shoulder and he jumps, reeling backward. Goro just barely manages to stay on his feet, yelling, “ _what!?_ ”

“Wh– what are you doing?”

“What do you mean, ‘what am I doing,’ I’m following you!”

“No, what were you _looking_ at?”

Goro stares at Joker, confused, frustrated, starving to death. He’s been following this asshole all morning without question and this is what he gets for it? He gestures to the general aura of the alley they’re in, “what could there possibly be to look at here.”

“Just now, Akechi, what were you looking at _just now_ ,” Joker says, his tone very serious. It annoys the shit out of him when he gets all “Leader-esque,” all high and mighty, like he thinks he deserves the title.

 _Fucking_ “ _nothing_ ,” Goro responds, less pleasant than usual, through gritted teeth. “Can we get this _over with_ so we can _eat?_ ”

Joker looks to Goro’s left, inexplicably shakes his head at nothing, then shoves his hands in his pockets and walks away.

Goro contemplates leaving. It’s not like he has any obligation to be here, dealing with Joker’s shit. He could just go.

He follows.

And against all odds he’s glad he followed, because now he finally knows where Joker gets all of their gear. God, he’s so pissed at himself: he lives ten minutes away from this shop and he’s been fucking buying shit from the internet. Half the time his order ends up being wrong or broken. 

He bends down and inspects the pieces displayed behind a glass case. Looking at these prices, he’s also been getting completely _ripped off_. _Shit_.

Joker empties his pockets of the junk they found in Mementos and starts haggling with the yakuza behind the counter like they’re best friends. Goro wonders, while he stares hungrily at a very reasonably priced replica Walther PPK, in much better condition than his own, if he’s maybe killed anyone this guy knows. He wonders if this guy’s killed anyone _he_ knows.

“Is that Akechi Goro?”

Ah. He’s finally been noticed. Took them long enough.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” the man addresses Joker, “ _he’s_ with _you_?”

Goro’s not sure if all these random townspeople keep assuming they’re Phantom Thieves or… or _together_ , but either one is a fucking disaster.

“Can I guess which one he is?” The yakuza says, and Joker nods, expression blank. Which, in Joker language, means he’s having the fucking time of his life. “Sword?”

Joker shakes his head.

Goro walks away to look at some other displays, choosing to ignore how he’s being examined like an animal in a zoo with just about as much deference. He pictures his favorite sword to calm himself down, the one he’s been using lately: strong metal like damascus steel, dark red, teethed, devastating.

The man squints at him, then grumbles, “he looks more built in person than he does on TV. Is he the axe?” Joker shakes his head again. “Club?” Another no. “Damn. …Hold on– he’s not _Star Wars_ kid?”

Will the humiliations never end.

The man chuckles at him, because it’s all just so funny, isn’t it. He whistles, “you’re spoiled, detective. My guy always picks up the best stuff for you.”

“He’s new,” Joker says quickly as he fidgets with one of this curls. Oh, really?

“Hm. I didn’t realize my performance was poor enough to warrant special treatment,” Goro interjects with a smile, breaking the silence he’d somehow managed to maintain until now. _You know damn well I’ve been carrying you and your pathetic teammates through the entire Palace_ , he thinks aggressively at Joker, _and I’m not even fucking trying._

“It’s not! I just…” Joker trails off, then turns to Iwai, “I need a lunch recommendation,” he says, in a what is an extremely transparent attempt to change the subject.

“Uh. Okay. What are you lookin’ for?”

“Best lunch you ever had.”

“Best lunch I ever–? Jesus, kid. You’re comin’ to the wrong person for this.” Joker remains silent as the yakuza thinks. “Fine. The place is close and it’s a total dive, but they got the best burgers in the world. Not like that shit you get at Big Bang. I’ll text you the address, and you tell ‘em I sent you.

“But,” the man leans in close, even though they’re the only ones in his shop, “you two be careful. I like the place, so you get how it’s probably lousy with people like me. Right?”

“Thanks, Iwai,” Joker says, completely unbothered by the man’s warning.

Criminals, all of them. Goro’s doing the world a favor.

 

* * *

 

Joker’s really putting him through the ringer today: trashy clinics, motorcycles, the highest places and now the lowest of them. That yakuza wasn’t wrong: this “restaurant” is the sketchiest of all the establishments they’ve visited today, and that’s saying something.

Goro knows the company he’s required to keep doesn’t follow the same rules, but he generally tries to stay away from places like this, for his image’s sake. Sticks to bakeries, high-class buffets, trendy restaurants that bump up all their prices for no discernible reason. Food is food, after all.

But really, which of the tattooed nutjobs in this smoky shithole would recognize him anyway? And if they did recognize him, well. They would also know to keep their distance.

The two of them eat without much incident. They don’t order beers when the waitress asks (good lord), even though it looks like Joker contemplates it for a second. They talk about their own favorite meals, and Goro manages to make something up on the spot. Joker tries to take a photo of the burger when it arrives, but he’s holding his phone at eye level, like a novice, so Goro gives him a crash course in food photography. In the minute that Goro is looking at Joker’s phone to direct his shot, Joker receives _four_ text messages:

 **_Hifumi:_ ** _Hello Ren. Are you free today?_

 **_Ryuji:_** _sry for yellin earlier bro. i get why you’re skipping, just wish i’d done it too. fuckin hate this class._

 **_Shinya:_** _NEW HIGH SCORE BITCHHHH_ 😩👌 _[open to view image]_

 **_Iwai:_** _yo. lemme know if the waitress gives you shit. she owes me a favor._

Goro wonders if Joker has managed to trick the entire city into being his friend. He wonders how many of Joker's friends have also spent a day out with him like this. Probably most of them. Goro’s probably at the bottom of a long list, only asked as a last resort.

Joker moans when he takes his first bite and Goro takes that noise and shoves it in a box that he will never, ever open again, along with so many of the other things he’s been unfortunate enough to witness today.

The burger is good. It’s likely the best burger he’s had. But it’s hard to enjoy eating something when you know it’s almost definitely going to come right back up the same way.

They finish their lunch, and Joker pays for their meal with the money they earned earlier in Mementos, so really it’s like both of them are paying.

Goro’s grabbing his borrowed hoodie as they head out, running through the events of the day in his head one more time, (the sneaking out, the motorcycle ride, tourist traps, deep unprompted questions, meal paid for… is this… is this a date? Has he actually been on a _date_ this whole time?), when he walks straight into Joker’s back.

He’s stopped just outside the doorway of the restaurant, and he doesn’t move after Goro steps back and apologizes, embarrassed at being so lost in thought.

Joker’s still not moving, so Goro clears his throat.

Joker shushes him.

He can’t hold back an exasperated growl, pushes Joker to the side, and barrels past him through the doorway of the stupid dive bar and right behind the unmistakable back of his own father.

Four thousand restaurants in the downtown area, and they picked the one his father goes to _._

It’s a miracle of self-preservation that his surprised yelp gets trapped in his throat. Shido’s back is still turned. He can salvage this. He has to move quickly.

Goro whips back around to face Joker, who is _staring at his father_ , grabs his wrist, and _pulls_ with all his strength. Another miracle: Joker moves this time, and doesn’t make a sound. 

They speed-walk in silence down the street in the opposite direction of Shido and his entourage. Every step takes forever, though he doesn’t think either of them have ever moved so fast in their entire lives. Goro turns the first corner he sees, then comes to an abrupt halt. He carefully looks back around the corner, behind them, because he has to know if they were caught. He doesn’t care if Joker thinks he’s acting strangely. He doesn’t care, he doesn’t give a shit, he can make up an excuse for that. Shido _can’t have seen them_.

No one’s there.

Goro slumps against the building’s brick facade. All he can hear is static and the sound of his own heart. It would be impossible to explain– impossible to justify– skipping around town, having lunch? With his _enemy?_ How the fuck would he spin that, “intelligence gathering?” On a dead guy? What the fuck was he _thinking?_

He could have ruined everything, _everything_ , all because this attic-dwelling criminal _trash_ –

“That was the guy,” Joker says, right next to him. Goro realizes he’s still got a vice-grip on Joker’s wrist, and drops it.

“That was… that was the–”

“– _What guy_ , what the _fuck_ are you talking about?” Goro hisses.

Joker’s looking at him with wide eyes, but he seems far away. “He’s why I got arrested,” he says, though Goro is positive he didn’t hear him right. “He ruined my life. He–”

“ _–he’s not_ ,” Goro interrupts, and if his voice cracks it’s only because none of what Joker is saying makes any _sense_. “He’s no one.”

Joker’s eyes flash from behind his glasses, “you know him.”

“I don’t.”

Joker’s looking at him like he’s someone else. He didn’t realize how much he liked the way Joker looked at him, before. “It was him,” Joker spits out, “I recognized his voice. He was drunk, trying to rape some woman, he got me arrested for assault, accused me for nothing, he _ruined my life!_ ”

“I didn’t know that,” someone that is not Goro says, “I didn’t know any of that.”

Joker pulls at his hair and paces.

Goro watches.

It doesn’t change anything. It can’t.

But…

It’s just another injustice to throw on the pile of injustices. It’s just another one.

But this…

It will all be over soon. He’ll fix it all. He’ll make it right, just like he swore to himself he would.

But this… this… it was Shido. It was Shido _again_. Joker could have been fine, safe, he could have lived a normal life, he could have lived. And he can’t even pretend Joker will get his justice in the end, like he has with so many other victims of Shido’s. He can’t pretend that Joker deserves it. He can’t, because Amamiya Ren is going to die, tomorrow, for no fucking reason.

“Ren,” Goro says. “I didn’t know.”

Ren stops pacing, puts his hands to his face and just stands there. It’s cold out, and Goro wants to put his hoodie back on, but he’s also afraid to move.

So he stands there too. Tries not to think about how everything is ruined now, because everything was already ruined anyway. He’s going to have to change his eulogy. He shouldn’t be thinking about this right now.

…But what the fuck can he do, anyway? If it’s not Goro behind the trigger it’ll be some homicidal maniac, one of the crazy ones Shido employs for the poor bastards without Palaces.

It’s a mercy. Goro will make it quick. And, Joker does deserve it a little bit. He deserves it, he brought this on himself, Phantom-Thieving around all over the place. Of course he should know that actions have consequences. There are always, _always_ consequences, and Joker will just have to take full responsibility for his actions.

It feels like hours until Joker collects himself, though it really could only have been a minute, at most.

“Sorry,” Joker says. He rubs at his eyes under his glasses, looks up at the sky, and breathes deep, “this is gonna sound totally out of the blue, but. Do you mind if I call you Goro?”

“I don’t mind,” he lies. Just another mercy.

“Thanks,” Joker says, like he really means it. “Now, let's get out of here. I’ve still got a lot of stuff planned, and I’m not going to let that bastard ruin my day any more than he already has.” Goro nods, familiar with the feeling, and falls in step with Joker, finally pulling on his hoodie.

“Though I gotta say, Goro,” Joker continues, “I’m looking forward to the Palace a lot more now. I really need to shoot something.”

 

* * *

 

The SIU director has Shido’s corrupt cops ready to march on Goro’s orders. That creepy old sycophantic pervert calls to confirm it while he and Joker are strolling around the lake at Inokashira Park. The director jokes to him that “the leader of the Phantom Thieves is going to have quite a fun time tonight, because the camera in his holding cell seems to be broken,” and Goro laughs too, holding his phone to his ear in a vice-grip while Joker pets a stranger’s dog. 

Shido’s ecstatic about the operation, Goro knows that much. It’s great. Everything’s going according to plan. They’ve both already prepared their remarks for the successful arrest. Shido sends over his next speech, the one for after the murder-suicide, for Goro to look over while Goro is pressed against Joker’s back, riding to a new mysterious destination.

It’s nearly three in the afternoon now. They only have three more hours. Goro can’t stop checking the time.

“Yusuke says to focus on what the art makes you feel,” Joker says as they stand in front of a large red canvas with a small black dot in the middle, “not on the effort it took to create it. If it makes you _feel_ something, then no matter what, that means it’s good art to you.”

“I feel nothing,” Goro says, because maybe saying it will make it true.

Joker laughs.

Goro wishes he could stop time. He wishes this day would never end.

They walk to another of the art museum’s exhibits and the back of Joker’s hand accidentally brushes against his glove, and that sensation is the only thing he can think about for a while.

It’s good that Joker is going to die tomorrow, he tells himself as the two of them contemplate a Greek statue. That way he’ll be forever preserved in Goro’s mind exactly as he is right now: seventeen, ridiculous, blissfully ignorant of everything Goro’s had to do. Joker belongs here, after all. The stark white of the museum walls make his sharp edges and dark features stand out even more than usual. If Goro borrows Kitagawa’s definition of art then of course Amamiya Ren is a work that outshines any useless mess of paint and oil and canvas.

He’s more handsome than all of these dumb statues, too.

“What do you think about this one?” Ren says quietly, as they stand in front of a picture of a horse, or whatever.

“I think we’ve beaten up this exact thing in the Metaverse,” Goro mumbles back, and Ren stifles a laugh.

He makes them turn around so they can get a selfie with the horse-thing. Ren holds up a peace sign and Goro winks. A few messages pop down from the top of the screen while they’re taking a few pictures, of course.

 **_Futaba:_** _hey rennn_

 **_Futaba:_** _sojiro figured you out you’re so busted!!!_

Ren grimaces and Goro cackles at him, reaching up to tap the camera button on Ren’s phone himself, capturing their expressions forever.

What if he didn’t do it?

What if he told Ren, admitted everything right now, grabbed his hand and asked him to run away with him? And Ren might nod in understanding, could pull him close for a romantic kiss, and they could run back to that motorcycle, leave everyone and everything behind, and what, ride off _into the fucking sunset?_ What the fuck was he even _thinking?_

He’s too far gone, he realizes with a kind of detached horror as they continue deeper into the museum. Whatever fucking charm this guy puts on people has finally gotten him too. It’s over. (But really, hasn’t it been over for a while? Wasn’t it over the first time they met, when Goro saw the tilt of his eyes and the curve of his jaw and was instantly furious, because _of course_ the annoying “Phantom Thief” causing havoc in _his_ domain had to be beautiful?)

“ _It’s here!_ ” Ren whisper-yells, jogging ahead to a room filled with paintings from the Renaissance Era. He stops in front of one of the smaller ones, slouching forward, peering at it intently, with that ridiculous smirk that Goro definitely still hates.

“I saw this in a book once, a long time ago,” Ren explains as Goro approaches, “when I heard it would be in Tokyo for real I had to see it myself.”

Goro is confused, because this painting doesn’t look like anything special. It’s classic Renaissance Era fare: angelic being in the center of the sky, commoners reaching out to it on the left, commoners cowering from it on the right, dark shadows and beams of light, probably at least one horse, et cetera, et cetera. There are a dozen more like it just in this room. He leans forward to read the title: _The Descent of Metatron._  

“What do you think of it, Goro?” Ren says, looking at him very seriously.

“I’m afraid I’m no art critic,” Goro laughs pleasantly, “I doubt any opinions I can come up with will be well-informed.”

“And mine are?” Ren fires back.

Well. Fine, he shouldn’t have forgotten who he was talking to. Goro always liked a challenge. He focuses on the painting and tries to figure out why Ren finds it so fascinating.

He gives it his best effort. He really does.

But it’s hard to concentrate.

He’s been all over the city, awake for over twelve hours now, forced to spend the whole day with this guy that he…

So when he looks at this stupid painting all he sees is the right half, the one in shadow, the side filled with the damned. The man lying prone on the ground… all Goro can think about is how the Shadow of that train conductor cowered, wailing and crying, before he shot it in the head. And, that woman, begging for her life– she looks just like Isshiki’s Shadow did, so many years ago, begging him to listen to her, to understand what killing her would do.

There’s so many people, so many of them, and there’s another man, damned like the others, but not cowering or begging, just standing there, waiting, staring right into his damnation, and Goro knows, somehow, that that’s exactly how Ren will look before he dies.

And he’s been avoiding looking at the angel, because it’s horrible, but it’s better than looking at _Ren_.

The thing is beautiful of course, proud, perfect, always perfect, but it’s also hanging limp in the clouds, head lolled to the side, arms splayed out. It’s not flying, not free, it’s a puppet attached to invisible strings. When he looks closer at it, he sees that the twisted thing has actually got this terrible expression plastered on its perfect face: empty and benevolent and righteous and lonely and furious and sad, it’s just _sad_.

And it’s condemning those people, the damned ones, for what seems to be no just cause, for no goddamn reason, for some piece of shit who will never show him any respect or love in return, not that he needs or wants that, it’s obviously fine, it’s just a random fucking angel, who gives a shit–

“I hate it,” Goro says, his throat tight.

Ren takes that in a stride, which is fucking annoying. “Yusuke would say that means it’s a good painting.”

He’s got to find a bathroom, because he’s going to throw up, but he has to ask first. He has to know, “what do _you_ think of it?”

Ren is silent for a moment, then says, “I don’t know. It’s hard to put into words. The angel… I see something new every time I look at it. That’s why it amazes me.” His cheeks are pink again, like he’s embarrassed, and he softly says, “it reminds me of you.”

Goro hates him. He hates him. He hates, hates, _hates,_ **_hates, HATES,_**

 

* * *

 

Goro wishes this never-ending day would hurry up and be over. He checks his phone. Half-past four. They only have an hour and a half before they have to meet the rest of the idiots at the courthouse. Thank god. 

“Shit,” Joker says, checking his own phone, “we took longer than I thought. Not enough time to take the doc’s bike back.”

“Are you sure?” Goro would love nothing more for Joker to free him, to suggest they split up here. He could have an hour to himself. He could triple-check his plans again and take some medicine for his stomach and wait out the time alone and think about nothing and no one.

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’ll just ride back in style after the heist. Walk with me?”

Whatever. Fine. “Fine.”

They walk aimlessly through downtown Shibuya, mostly in silence. Goro checks his messages, because school has let out by now, but the group chat is silent too.

The two of them pass street vendors, brightly colored businesses, train stations, they all look the same. Goro’s breath starts to puff out in front of him as the temperature drops. He wonders if it will snow tonight. That would normally be the perfect end to a date: a romantic first kiss as the evening snow falls.

“So… what did you think of today?” Joker asks as they walk.

He’s clearly angling for a compliment, which pisses him off, so Goro shrugs, “a day like any other, Joker,” and makes sure to continue on like it’s truly nothing, “though, it seems the good weather has left us. Shall we find a place away from the cold? I’d much rather wait out the rest of our time with a cup of coffee.”

Joker stops walking, and says, “a day like any other? What do you mean ‘a day like any other?’”

Goro raises an eyebrow at him. He’s so pleased with himself. Let Joker feel just a fraction of disappointment, for once in his life.

“We– we’ve seen the whole city… we went to a museum, saw incredible works of art, we ate the best burger ever,” Joker looks very offended as he prattles on. Goro would love to bask in his indignation, his poor little hurt feelings, but.

“ _…the time to rebuild this crumbling nation! Our government is littered with scandals, and…_ ”

But they’ve accidentally wandered to the Diet Building, and of course Shido Masayoshi is there. He’s up on a makeshift stage, surrounded by microphones and speakers and cameras, campaign posters with his face and his stupid slogan, giving his usual speech to a steadily growing crowd of gullible morons.

Because this is the perfect end to his day, isn’t it? The one he deserves. Stuck in between the two people he hates most in the world, forced to listen to both.

Goro turns back to deal with whatever nonsense Joker wants to do now, because as much as he hates Joker he cannot deal with more Shido today. They need to get as far away as possible: it’s unlikely Shido would see them, since they’re so far away from the crowd, but Goro’s not taking any chances.

But Joker’s gone.

He’s just _gone_.

Goro searches the square, alarmed, trying to catch any glimpse of his wild black hair. There’s nothing. _Nothing._  He slipped away so quietly, how did Goro not fucking notice at all?

After the whole day, everything they fucking did, dragging him everywhere, and Joker just abandons him?

“ _...taken a strong foothold in our society! Such a disgraceful past must be di_ ”

Shido’s speech cuts out abruptly. The bald piece of shit taps the microphone, but no sound comes out. Thank god. His audio line must have accidentally been disconnected, or.

Or.

Goro’s heart races, and he moves closer to the crowd, sticking to the edges, trying to get a glimpse around to the back of the whole production. It’s hard to see, though. Artificial walls, miscellaneous boxes and large speakers, Shido’s bodyguards and various campaign workers are all in the way.

“ _Haha, technical troubles, it seems. Now, where was I? Of course, of course, the most important topic of all, our children! We must discard our disgraceful past so our children, who carry the burden of th_ ”

Again Shido’s speech is abruptly cut mid-word. His expression flashes with barely-contained anger for just a moment, but for just a moment the world is witness to the same evil Goro has dealt with for years. It’s _glorious_.

The crowd murmurs as Shido stands impotently on the stage, waiting for his stage managers to get his microphone to start working again. Goro bites his tongue hard so he doesn’t start laughing out loud.

A high-pitched feedback _SCREECH_ heralds the return of his sound system, so Shido picks right back up, his tone now completely insincere: “ _our children, who carry the burden of the next generation can be proud of their c_ ”

Gone again. Shido looks like he’s about to throw one of his fits, but he _can’t_ because he’s still in front of a crowd. He turns to the back of the stage and Goro can barely hear his faint shout, “ _what is going on back there!?_ ”

Goro knows it’s Joker. Sure, it could be a system malfunction, but it’s Joker. It’s insane, ridiculous, perfect Joker.

Shido turns back to the crowd and places his microphone on the ground, shouts, “well, let’s do this the old-fashioned way, shall we? My message doesn’t need this technology to be heard. I want you all to know–”

Generic campaign music come blasting out of the speakers at full volume, completely drowning out his words. Goro bursts out laughing under the cover of the deafening sound. It’s a kind of manic laughter– he knows he shouldn’t be doing it, and that just makes it even _funnier_.

He’s not alone either: some of the crowd is laughing too. Cameras are still trained on Shido, reporters giving each other awkward looks at the mismanaged campaign rally. The people behind the stage are running around, shouting nonsense, trying to figure out how to fix any of it.

And it seems that they do, because the music stops. It pauses for just a moment, and then– 

And _then_ –

The _Imperial March_ starts playing, the anthem of Darth fucking Vader, and Goro _screams_ with laughter.

He’s doubled over, clutching at his stomach, staring up at the man he hates through vision blurred with tears, because he needs to memorize this: Shido’s fury, the humiliation, confusion, and this incredible feeling: because even Goro can’t deny that Joker did this just for _him_.

The song is still playing and he’s still choking with laughter, tears streaming down his face, when a warm hand clasps his own and leads him away from the crowd. Amamiya Ren is beaming at him, his face flushed and tousled hair looking wilder than ever.

“You’re insane! You’re out of your _mind_ – I can’t believe you did that!” Goro gasps out in between breaths, he’s never laughed so fucking hard in his life. He wipes away tears, his stomach aches, his mouth hurts from smiling. “What– how did you _do_ that?”

“The cords– it was so _easy!_ And the laptop was just sitting there,” Ren snorts, then starts laughing nearly as hard as him, “I could play anything!”

Out of everything, _anything_ , he played _Star Wars_?

“I didn’t get to see his reaction though, was he pissed?”

“Ren, he was _livid_. I’ve never seen him like that!”

“Oh my god, that felt so freakin’ good,” Ren says as his laughter starts to subside. Then he jumps up, pulling out his phone. “Goro, Goro, Goro, take my picture.”

He shoves the phone in Goro’s face with the camera app open, then runs a little closer to the stage so he can get it all in frame. He squats down with a serious face and makes two peace signs, completely ridiculous, and Goro’s having a hard time keeping the picture steady because he’s still laughing so hard.

 ** _Ryuji:_** _REN_ _futaba told me, wth you doing w that gd detective all day???_

God, Ren just gets so many texts, doesn’t he?

Goro ignores it, though Sakamoto’s indignant tone makes his laugh turn into a bit of a cackle. Ren sticks his tongue out and Goro takes another photo, laughing harder, remembering Shido’s fucking _face_. He’s never going to be able to forget it. It’s so childish and stupid and petty and _amazing_.

 **_Ryuji:_ ** _dont you have better shit to do skippin school_

Ren stops posing, laughs a little self-consciously, in a way that’s just so cute, so endearing, and starts toward Goro again. Goro holds his phone out to him, but not before he catches one more message.

 **_Ryuji:_** _than runnin around the city w a frickin homicidal maniac??_

And Goro’s

brain. Stops

working.

“Homicidal maniac?”

Goro’s… not a homicidal maniac?

Though,

Hahaha.

He _is_ , isn’t he?

Joker seems to be saying something. 

Goro may be a fraud,

Goro may not be a real detective,

Goro may have been creating his cases and then solving them himself, he may be a total fake,

but he’s not an _idiot_.

It’s easy to put it all together. It’s so fucking easy.

“You knew,” Goro says, “this whole time. You knew.”

Joker’s still running his mouth, shouting some nonsense. He’s holding onto Goro’s arm, shaking him. Goro doesn’t give a shit. He’s done enough listening today. He can fix this. He can fix this.

He can fix this.

Goro wrenches his arm away from Joker’s grip, shoves him down to the pavement easily. He pulls out his own phone, opens the app, and says, “Shido Masayoshi, Diet Building, ship.”

Their surroundings shift and change, and Goro’s on familiar territory, his home turf, the Palace he’s been working his way up to and training in and investigating for years. He breathes in the sickly salty air, takes in the vast red sea. His mask settles onto his face, and he feels a little less of everything. He hates this fucking ship, but that’s fine. It won’t be _his_ tomb.

“Goro, _listen to me!_ ” Joker’s gotten to his feet, now.

Standing up straight, facing him without fear. Not cowering, not begging. Goro knew it. He can fix this.

“I’m going,” Goro says, his voice steady, “to kill you.”

“ _Goro_ ,”

Everything turns red.

“ _Don’t call me that, you piece of shit!!_ ”

The tint to his vision clears as Goro breathes deep. Oops. Hahaha. He really needs to remember to control himself. He doesn’t need Loki for this.

“It seems I underestimated you,” Goro says, and he should have remembered, he should have remembered that Joker is far more cunning than he appears. “I’m impressed. That’s what this whole day was about, wasn’t it? Trying to trick me into changing my mind?”

He laughs at how naïve he’d been, fawning over this manipulative trash like he had a little crush. The laugh comes out twisted, “trying to ‘change my heart,’ you said?”

He hates Joker, he hates himself, hates how he’s been tricked, humiliated, hates how close he was to being completely taken in by Joker’s act. Goro must have looked so stupid, clinging to him all day, hanging on his every word, debasing himself as if he were just another one of Joker’s pathetic teammates. They must have been laughing at him the whole time, he was probably texting all of his other pets, telling them his plan was going so fucking great.

Goro had thought about throwing away _everything_ for him.

“It wasn’t about that,” Joker says, “I wasn’t–”

“ _Shut up!!_ ”

“It wasn’t about _you!_ ” Joker yells, completely ignoring him. Goro needs to fix that. He unholsters his gun, the one from that yakuza’s shop, the nice one Joker bought for him, isn’t that funny, and aims it at him. He’s going to have to change his eulogy.

Joker doesn’t move, of course he doesn’t, but he looks smaller, and _weak_ , as he says, “we had a plan but I– I still could’ve died, and I woke up this morning and I freaked out, and–”

“And you thought ‘why not spend the day with a homicidal maniac?’ Don’t tell lies, Joker, it makes you look _stupid_ ,” he snarls back.

“Don’t call yourself that, you’re not–”

“Shut up, _shut up!_ You don’t know me, you don’t know _anything!!_ ” Goro shouts, and stalks closer. He feels unstable, _too_ unstable, and the world keeps turning red, so he concentrates keeping his aim steady. He can fix this. He has to fix this. “It’s been _years_. I’m so fucking close, but you just had to interfere, didn’t you? _Didn’t you!?_ ”

Joker says nothing, just stands there as Goro draws nearer, eyes wide beneath his mask. He hasn’t even drawn a weapon. What the fuck is wrong with him? Does he not realize what’s about to happen? Does he think Goro won’t do it?

“I’ve had to be perfect, perfect at _everything_ so that bastard would need me. He has to trust me. He has to respect me. I can’t fail now,” he tells Joker, “it will all be for nothing if I fail now. You don’t understand,” he says, even though his enemy is still silent. Joker was talking all day, going on and on _and on_ about nothing, endlessly, and now he’s quiet?

Goro puts the barrel of his gun against Joker’s chest, right at his heart, presses it hard. “ _You don’t understand,_ ” he says, pushing through the cracks in his voice. He jabs the gun into Joker’s ribs hard, hard enough to make him stumble backward. “He abandoned us, he didn’t want me even after she died, _everything_ is because of him. I have to stop him, I have to make him pay for what he did, _no matter what it takes_.”

He raises his arm higher, presses the barrel of his gun against Joker’s forehead, right above his mask, just like he practiced.

“He has to be stopped. You know, you _know_ he has to be stopped.”

Just like he practiced. Just like he practiced.

He has to do this. Case closed.

“This is for you too,” he says as Joker stares him down, because Goro needs him to understand.

It’s not personal, Joker has to understand. He would have been killed anyway. He has to face the consequences of his actions. This is a mercy. Goro being the one to do it is a mercy.

He thinks of telling him he’s sorry, but that was never part of his plan before.

“You’ll get your justice, in the end,” Goro promises instead.

Joker doesn’t avert his eyes. He stares right into his own damnation.

And Goro thinks of that stupid painting.

Joker saw that painting in a book, he’d said. A long time ago, he’d said. And… he liked it. He liked it so much that he kept track of where it was being shown, enough to know when it was being exhibited in Tokyo. Joker’s been so busy lately, Goro knows that much. He’s been running around Tokyo, helping all his little friends, working to make enough money for better gear, and infiltrating a Palace. So he must have lost track of the time, not had a chance to get to the museum himself.

So Joker woke up this morning, knowing, somehow, what was in store for him tomorrow, knowing it could be his last day free and alive, and decided that seeking out that painting would be one of the ways in which he would spend what precious little time remained to him.

_It amazes me. It reminds me of you._

He knew. He knew this whole time. He knew what Goro had done, what he was planning to do, and he still wanted to spend time with him. Still wanted him around, laughed with him, asked him so many questions, spent a whole day with him, his last day.

He saw that stupid painting, a long time ago. He looked at the angel, empty and benevolent and righteous and lonely and furious and _sad_ , and saw Goro.

And he had to see it again before he died.

Goro shoves Ren backward, making him stumble and fall to the floor. He throws his gun off the side of the ship. He grabs his helmet, sinks down to his knees, and screams in frustration.

He can’t do it. He can’t fix this. It’s over.

He’s so tired.

He’s exhausted, he’s sick, he’s a failure. No matter what he does, no matter what he chooses, he’s a failure. He can’t kill Ren, he can’t stop Shido. He’s so tired of feeling like this, for years and years, he’s so tired of everything. For the first time in his life he doesn’t know what to do.

Ren shifts so they’re sitting next to each other.

“I hate you,” Goro says, his throat tight.

Ren takes that in a stride, which is fucking annoying. “I know.”

He doesn’t know what to do. He needed this plan to go perfectly, but the stupid Phantom Thieves figured him out. He needs Shido’s trust, needs it to gain enough of his favor to be invited into the inner sanctum of this goddamn Palace… hold on.

Goro removes the top part of his helmet so he can see more clearly and turns to Ren. “Did you seriously just ‘I know’ me?”

Ren smiles.

Goro huffs out a breath, and it sounds like a laugh. “You’re such an asshole.”

“So are you,” Ren says with a shrug.

Goro shoots him a look, and grumbles, “I don’t need a gun to kill you, you know.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Ren replies, giving his outfit a blatant and gratuitous once-over.

Goro hates how much he wants to ask him if he likes it. He taps his clawed gauntlet against the metal floor of the ship instead. Thinks about everything and nothing. Ren stays quiet.

“I’m so sick of his shit,” Goro says, unprompted. “He’s never– even if I do this… he’s never going to respect me. I’m never getting an invitation. I’m never getting in that fucking room.”

He taps his fingers in a faster rhythm. “The things he made me do… what the hell kind of…” Goro shakes his head.

He can’t seem to sink into self-loathing like he wants to. He’s still trying to grasp that Amamiya Ren is alive, and will stay that way past tomorrow.

“Goro,” Ren says quietly, resting a hand on his own to stop the tapping, “we can get you away from him. We can steal his Treasure, change his heart– you don’t have to deal with him anymore.”

 _It’s not that easy, you moron_ , Goro thinks, a little too fondly. But everything always seems to work out for Ren, doesn’t it? Maybe… maybe it’s time he used that to his advantage.

He pulls his hand away from Ren’s and stands, pointedly failing to offer help to the Thief still sitting on the floor. They’ve been sickening enough already, haven’t they?

“You Phantom Thieves have some sort of plan, correct? As do I,” he tells Ren, back to business. “It’s important that this still appears to play out as it should, or else you and your teammates may face some unfortunate repercussions. Understand?”

Ren gets up from the floor, stands up straight. “You keep talking like you’re not one of us,” he inexplicably says, choosing to leave Goro’s question unanswered. Goro shakes his head in disbelief and pulls out his phone so he can get them the fuck out of here. They don’t have a lot of time, after all: it’s nearly six in the evening.

“I’m not going to debase myself into becoming another one of your little sidekicks,” he says as he taps the command to take them back to the real world.

Ren’s mask melts away as Goro watches, but he’s still smirking like Joker when he replies, “that’s cool. I’d much rather have a partner.”

The temperature outside the Diet Building is decidedly cold now, Goro notices as he takes a shaky breath. The winter sun has already set, the last of the light fading away even as they stand. The makeshift stage is still there in the distance, slowly being dismantled by a few workers. Goro watches someone pull up and wrap a bundle of cords, and wonders when it was that Ren won so completely.

It’s may not be snowing, but Goro still feels…

Partners. It’s almost like it all really was fate, if Goro actually believed in such a thing. Maybe he was starting to believe.

“You are… truly beyond my comprehension,” he says, turning to Ren once more. Ren twirls one of his curls and smiles at him. His cheeks are flushed pink again, a clear sign of life, and…

Ren is alive, just like he’ll be tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. Forever, if Goro has his way.

For the first time in a long time he feels excited for what the future will bring.

 

* * *

 

They walk in silence to meet with the rest of the Phantom Thieves– it’s not a long trip from the Diet Building to the courthouse. Ren doesn't ask him anything more on the way there. It seems he's all out of questions for now. Goro is endlessly grateful, because he doesn't know how he'd answer. He never thought he'd get the chance to explain any of it to anyone.

Furtive looks are exchanged after they join the group waiting outside the courthouse, but no one says anything out of the ordinary. Goro's actually impressed now that he knows they know: it’s not often that a group of teenagers are able to keep a plan a secret. Well. Mostly secret, that is.

And so they invade the Palace. They defeat Niijima Sae’s Shadow. Goro manages not to shoot it out of pure muscle memory, and sends the text to call in his reinforcements instead. The Thieves all do a very good job of pretending to cobble together an escape plan. Then, one by one they each say their goodbyes to Ren before running off to save themselves.

It’s all so sickeningly dramatic.

Goro watches Niijima run off and wonders if maybe he dreamt up this entire day. It's all playing out so perfectly, just as he planned, nothing changed. So what if nothing changed?

“Crow, wait,” Ren calls out, once it’s only the two of them left. He runs over to him, drops the briefcase, Sae’s Treasure, digs through his pockets, and hands an item over to Goro. It looks the same in the Metaverse as it did in the real world: skull charm attached to shining keys, promising adventure and freedom. And, thankfully for Goro's sanity, it means that the day's events weren't his own imagination after all.

“Mind driving the doc’s bike back for me?” Ren asks.

The keys feel heavier than they look. That doctor was insane, she threatened Ren’s life rather competently if he so much as scratched her motorcycle. Goro closes his hand around them and asks, “do you trust me?”

“Yeah, I trust you,” Ren says, his dark eyes never wavering, and there’s no lie within them. He reaches towards Goro’s face, pushes his pointed mask up in a swift motion, and steps forward.

Goro pictured his first kiss amongst the falling snow. He dreamt of one, of many, on the back of a motorcycle. He imagined it happening in an attic, or during a rest in Mementos. He thought of running to his first kiss in Leblanc, countless times, and ended up running out the door each night instead.

Goro pictured his first kiss as a moment stolen from someone else's life. If it happened it would be an accident, it would be a moment of weakness, and then the truth would come out: who he really was, all that he had done. If it ever happened it would be wrong, something to regret, a mistake, because Goro was nothing but lies and deceit.

But Ren _knows_ him.

Goro never pictured his first kiss like this.

It only lasts a second– Ren steps away just as soon as Goro realizes that what’s happening is really happening. Goro leans forward to follow, trying to chase the moment, to make it last just a little longer, but Ren is picking up the Treasure and turning away.

“See you tomorrow, Goro,” Ren promises, before he hops down a ledge and runs. His cheeks were pink.

Goro laughs into the night, and all the way back to Yongen-Jaya. He doesn’t scratch the motorcycle.


End file.
